


back once again.

by theydie



Category: Library of Ruina (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Roland Can Have Complex Feelings As A Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theydie/pseuds/theydie
Summary: it’s just the two of them, just as it had been before.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	back once again.

**Author's Note:**

> [takes place soon after yesod’s third story interaction.]  
> i'm bad at writing in-character, so if this is wildly off the mark, you know what, that's on me. also i love run-on sentences. i love them so much. + this spawned from my friends and i making crackship again. yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

some time has passed, seconds extending into hours - still, it’s not enough for the sting to subside. agitation burrows, irritation funneled into and pouring across his core. wires cross, and there’s an itch spanning across every plane, curve and bend. yesod can feel the instinct come to a boil, unfurling something in the waters. and the air feels solid, certain as it pressed, sure as it pulls. there’s a buckle in his process, a pit placed directly in the path. his head hurts, and the body he’s given has begun to ache.

his coat slips, slight, slow to fall, caught on his upperarms. the irritation doesn’t come away the same as nail to skin does, and the sweater is a buffer. then there are steps echoing in, filtered through the harsh air he’s exhaling. the noise brings his body to a halt, train screaming against the rails. a crash is imminent, course riding the corner before narrowly meeting the cliff. with seconds to spare, yesod turns toward the library’s entrance just as roland seems to manifest there.

he has no weapon in hand, but a glow beginning to dim from being haggard. hair disheveled, a noticeable droop to his shoulders. roland draws closer, without a care for his state - despite their exchange from before, despite his previous reservations. barely afloat.

yesod’s focus shifts, almost instantaneous, the itch turning into a scratch, a claw then a tear. his coat is finally off, folded over the nearest chair. and there’s the sting still, needling at the back of his neck, falling across his shoulders. the storm doesn’t draw back, hasn’t drawn back, the furious sky cries. pointedly, “you’re still here, lap dog?”

and the crooked tie mocks, sneers behind roland’s crossed arms.

“i told you not to call me that,” but there’s a lack of force. yesod only hums out a noise of acknowledgement, sound stripped of any fondness. his body language is guarded, roland notices. “yesod.”

it’s just the two of them, just as it had been before. the harsh air begins to thin, through a new set of lungs to filter the tension. 

roland continues, earnest tone padded by his own exhaustion. everything is muddled, he can only hope to make sense.

“you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” offhanded, spoken with mild disbelief. working hard to get the words to come out , “i’m trying to apologize.”

he doesn’t specify, yesod doesn’t expect him to. a sigh comes, and roland only looks more tired as the exchanges drags. there’s little to wonder about, focus funneled and stare true. he thinks he sees right through the other - he _thinks_ he does, vision averting only for a second as yesod begins to respond.

“i don’t accept.” roland blanches. “but, the effort is appreciated.”

yesod smooths his hand across the chairs back, feeling the edge even with the coat covering. his expression is characteristically neutral. to roland’s appalled face, yesod almost laughs. he manages not to though, no longer that cruel. slowly,

“what?” a rhetorical, already knowing the answer. “were you expecting something else?”

the lapse in conversation speaks for itself. 

agitation makes way for amusement, the burn soon washed out, new feeling drowning the old. it’s rare for yesod to indulge in moments like this, able to poke fun at the shared spot, sore and smarting. so, despite himself, when he draws closer - touch targeting roland’s tie - he lets out a breath. 

and that must relieve something, because roland exhales too. he shifts his weight, movement slight as the front of his suit is adjusted. contact bare, gesture decisive. layers peel back, slowly, surely with the seconds passing. vulnerability produces something new across the plane of his back, color warm and soothing. it’s only a moment, dragged out by roland’s own overthinking. yesod easily works the tie into place, careful and considerate - he’s without gloves, oddly, the realization strikes and then there are sparks. and whatever ignited, it carries over, drawing back as the touch does.

roland finds himself cold, suddenly, breath skipping and heart missing the mark - he half-expects a puff of cold air to come. there’s a sense of longing, a feeling almost forgotten, boring itself into his backside.

he wavers, continuing his path on being an absolute dumbass. clearing his throat, fumbling to find the words. the dots don’t quite connect.

“glad that was sorted out.”

yesod raises a brow, mouth a flat line. there’s a soft color to his cheeks, an unspoken promise, the start of a new season. roland thinks twice about pointing it out, thinks three times over if the shade paints even under the bangs too, thinks - and he’s snowballing right there, like an idiot, feeling utterly ridiculous. he’s under a spotlight of his own making, floundering on stage for an audience of none.

the turn away catches him off-guard, but it’s far from being out of character. the few exchanges they’ve had lets him figure that much out. yesod murmurs something unintelligible, something that could be a send off, something that could be not. roland strains to hear, a sliver of himself seeking out a specific result. he doesn’t, he won’t ask for it to be repeated. 

and the cold from before runs colder, deeper. roland resists the urge to sigh, to pinch the bridge of his nose or rub at his temples - denies frustration from showing. it’s all he can do to keep stitches from splitting. then he’s turning on his heel, indignant, knowing he just hit rock fucking bottom.

the ground that greets him does nothing to soften the blow, there’s no safety net below. nothing good would come out of berating himself, passing through the doorway, he loses the ability to breathe. air dry, skin tight. and a sad, shameless part of him wants to look over the shoulder, wants yesod to fill the shoes of someone far gone. once he’s out of view, there’s a tremor rolling across the track of his arm - flattening his palm against the front of his chest, feeling where the tie had been fixed. 

warmth comes again, strange and steep, sloping until the feeling meets his stomach. there’s a pit forged from something undeniable. and it’s been long enough for the old to register as new, for the casual nature he’s learned to be shucked away and leave nervous energy behind. the end of the hall greets him.

he’s teetering, and there’s the backtrack.

‘ _you simply want the results_ ,’ an echo, ‘ _whatever the process may entail_.’

the sudden hostility from before burned - burns, still, leaving only cinder.

‘ _you’re despicable_ ,’ he wants to prove him wrong. ‘ _you’re bringing about your own demise_.’

and none of it should be complex, nothing about him should be being turned inside out - make him revisit old habits, old wants and wishes. he doesn’t have the luxury of being a dreamer, knows how grueling every process is. he knows better - should know better, but that doesn’t keep roland from second guessing.

‘ _i do not want to turn a blind eye to this reality nor conform to it_.’ 

begrudgingly, he realizes, thay maybe yesod _did_ get through to him.

**Author's Note:**

> >why did this turn into roland subconsciously missing his wife and overthinking things with his coworker. sorry.


End file.
